


prayers to the false gods.

by atlesianic



Category: RWBY
Genre: Poetry, Prayer, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlesianic/pseuds/atlesianic
Summary: praying to the puppeteers.another repost/rewrite!!I DO NOT CONSENT TO THE REPOSTING OF MY WORKS.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	prayers to the false gods.

**Author's Note:**

> find the rewrite/continuation in chapter two

the god of light lifts a hand and all who follow fall silent.  
within those hands lies the balance of the world,  
the ability to grant life and death.  
the guardians that follow are without eyes,  
their tongues tied to His fingers with puppet strings.  
it is only their hands that are free:  
they may only point weapons and fingers at His enemies.

His knights fall into step with the guardians,  
children broken by kindness and lies.

the Rose is their leader, the flower barely blooming.  
in her hands rests the power to shatter and sever,  
and her eyes hold power yet unshackled,  
for the god of light holds the key.

should the Rose take up the Hammer  
and learn to command the forge, however,  
her eyes will turn from grey to silver,  
to shimmering stardust,  
and He shall slip ever further.

Snow falls shortly after petals,  
her tongue a rapier and her eyes cold.  
her shackles are made of coals which burn her delicate skin,  
and the one who holds her leash is not a god  
but a man.

with power gained from within the self,  
Snow shall overpower her chains.  
the coals will turn to ash and her captor will know pain,  
for Snow can burn as harshly as flame.

the Shadow goes unseen  
her power held tight by a noose about her neck.  
this noose was not woven from light or dark  
but rather from her own form.  
the cord about her neck is made of her hair;  
the gallows she stands on are made of her bone;  
but the lever for which would have her hanged  
is controlled by those she has yet to let herself love.

but it is the Sun, his flame untouched by care,  
who stands beside the Shadow,  
and instead of untying her  
he bids she untie herself.

His final knight, a martyr of her own making,  
is the Fire that cannot be put out.  
her flame is eternal and her power is unstoppable  
by anything that is not herself.

she is armed, but without her self.  
she is flame, but controlled by unending love.  
she is beauty, but overpowered by strength.  
she is a guardian, a Fire that will consume all evil.

* * *

the goddess of darkness does not have feet,  
but overgrown roots that choke anything in Her way.  
Her eyes are not made of flesh but obsidian and rubies.  
Her skin is carved from ivory.  
Her blood is built from the tears of the fallen,  
of the slain fighters whose rot stains Her gown.  
She desires control and submission,  
craves death and destruction,  
and will stop at nothing to turn the world into ash.

standing before her, beneath the broken moon,  
is a Doctor disgraced and dressed in smoke.  
as a gift, She turned his eyes to emeralds,  
his dark skin into fresh clay,  
for it is from his work that Her world will begin to grow.

power courses through his veins where blood should lie  
and a machine replaces his beating heart.  
he is inhuman posing as the opposite,  
a monster posing as a man.  
he is the great Doctor, and it is his work  
that will allow the world to sprout forth  
from the ashes She leaves in Her wake.

groveling at Her feet is the Hunter.  
his meal is the ground She walks on  
and his tears water the dead flowers that follow.  
his eyes are molten gold, but tainted with venom.  
his blood is acid and his teeth are daggers.  
within him lie every sorrow the world can muster.  
his skin is made of stitched together memories.

but within him is a light  
yet untainted by corruption,  
yet defiled by Her hands.  
but it is the Hunter's own eyes that must open  
if he is to ever see it and follow its guidance.

the Ember, who once was Flame,  
is burdened with intense power she cannot fathom.  
she is a child, darkness thrust upon her,  
which she must wear as a velvet gown.  
She is her mother, a surrogate  
who stole the girl from her mother's womb.

her hands are stained with blood,  
but her heart is filled with question.  
it is not control she desires, but fear.  
it is not submission she desires,  
but freedom.

the Brute is silent and sturdy  
his words few and his form unwavering.  
his eyes hold the life of a man long dead  
and his hands remember the touch of a family long gone.

he fights because a Brute is necessary.  
he follows because She promises redemption.  
he knows they are lies,  
knows this is deception,  
but deception is all he has now.

**Author's Note:**

> http://atlesianic.carrd.co


End file.
